What I Am
Sometime on Monday morning, a reader from San Diego became my 10,000th visitor.
For all of you who average 1000 hits a day, please allow me clarify: that was 10,000 hits in 10 months. Almost to the day.
As I've always maintained, this blog resides in a small, brackish backwater of the blogosphere, and I'm very happy that so many intrepid explorers have paddled their way upstream to my small outpost.
I can't say I know exactly why, however.
I'm definitely not the hippest person on the planet. Not even in my neighborhood. Not even in my building. Not even on my floor.
I've never spent a Friday night at Snaxx.
I don't go to the Eagle on Sunday evenings.
I don't much go to the Eagle on Fridays or Saturdays either, though I've been known to stick my head in, now and again.
I don't own an iPod.
I have mixed feelings about acquiring one. Mostly I'm ambivalent.
I have a vast collection of music on vinyl and CD. And a functioning turntable.
I can't remember the last movie I saw in a theatre before my expedition to see Brokeback Mountain a couple of weeks ago.
I just saw Brokeback Mountain a couple of weeks ago.
While I am a purveyor of mid-20th Century classic furniture, my apartment is furnished, such as it is, in Mission.
I did not enjoy dining at Spice Market or Lever House. I do, however, enjoy the Four Seasons and Keen's. And Chez Napoleon. And the VIP diner.
I work out on a fairly regular basis but you'd be really hard pressed to call me a gym bunny.
I've been with Tim for almost 11 years, and we don't live together.
I'm older than dirt.
So, for whatever reasons you're here, I thank you. I'm glad everybody has survived the crocodiles, poisonous snakes and unfriendly natives on the perilous journey here.
Y'all come back soon, ya hear?